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blue_bells» Title: And they have escaped the veil of darkness
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Pairing(s)/Character(s): Gabriel/Uriel
» Warnings: None
» Spoilers: Season 4, elements of Season 6
» Summary: He’s been humming a melody from his youngest years, but the words are lost to him now.
» Author's Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zekkass who asked for something hopeful for them, though I'm not sure if I got there in the end. This is set post-Season 6.
The second hand on his watch has moved three minutes.
There’s dirt on the toe of his black dress shoes. He should polish them when he gets home; if, perhaps he should say. At the rate this line was moving, he’d be lucky if his brothers hadn’t polished off dinner by the time he got there.
Who was cooking tonight?
A man coughs, muffled and dry, somewhere in the queue behind him.
The woman in front of him is rifling through her purse again. Her blond hair is neatly pinned in a French twist and her pink suit probably wasn’t even that offensive under natural light.
He’s been humming a melody from his youngest years, but the words are lost to him now. The yellow, dirty light of this waiting room makes his eyes heavy.
“Hey.”
He checks his watch again. This queue wound out the doors and down the hall, how long would it be before he even had a glimpse? The wait was aching in his knees.
“Hey.”
The corridor is silent except for the hushed, collective breath of relief with every step that has taken them forward in line, rewarding their patience.
Who is this man standing at his shoulder? Didn’t he know how long he’d now wait to get back in line?
“What are you doing?” the man asks him. He sounds confused and incredulous. His gold eyes seem familiar. Why?
“I’m waiting in line.” The sound of his own voice startles him and it almost cracks with disuse. He swallows to clear the tremble.
“For what?”
“My turn.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“… Excuse me? Who are you?”
Everything will be all right once he gets to the front. He’ll get his reward, stamped and sealed with gratitude. If only he could remember what for; but it was a great sum, whatever it was.
“Uriel,” the man shakes his head, sadly, searching his face, “You don’t belong here.”
Uriel.
The name makes his chest tighten and he sees the woman in front of him stiffen. She turns, slowly, and the sharp glare that narrows at him is a hollowed, consuming black. It doesn’t surprise him and he can’t understand how he feels in that moment.
Uriel? That's his name, isn't it?
“I know you,” he prompts the man and allows the question to linger.
Tell me how.
The man touches the rope that has cordoned them in this queue – he hadn’t noticed the deep red of it before. It ignites at the man’s touch, falling in ash at their feet, but only where they stand, and Uriel feels the black, accusing eyes of all the others before and behind turn on him.
He senses it, but he doesn’t see, because he watches the man on the other side of the ashes reach for him with a careful frown. Fire licks along his skin and it feels like breath, a clear, pure wind on his face where the fingers touch, and then a grip closes around his wrist, pulling him free.
Uriel breathes his first breath since dying in the light and when he opens his eyes there are gardens at his feet, a sun of absolution bearing on his shoulders, and he remembers.
“Gabriel,” he forces the name out and, with it, all his sin.
But this isn’t Heaven and this grass isn’t Eden. Uriel sinks to his knees on the damp earth with a quiet sob.
He doesn’t realise Gabriel has also kneeled until his hands are being pulled from his knees and he looks into Gabriel’s face, expecting triumph or disdain. Gabriel left them long ago and Uriel still curls around the ache of that betrayal because he would have followed his General anywhere. Now that he is returned and alive, there is a shadow over his gaze, and Uriel almost forgets his bitterness.
“Grace led me back to you.” Gabriel’s expression is worn and his eyes almost look grey when he grips Uriel’s hands. “Pray with me,” he murmurs hoarsely, and Uriel knows that he will without caring why.
They are delivered, though something is not right. Lips brush his forehead and grace weaves within the space where Uriel once held his wings. The touch is trembling and unsteady, and Uriel holds on just as tightly.
He prays for their completion, for shelter and forgiveness, but at the end of it all, the only holy word he remembers is Gabriel.
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Pairing(s)/Character(s): Gabriel/Uriel
» Warnings: None
» Spoilers: Season 4, elements of Season 6
» Summary: He’s been humming a melody from his youngest years, but the words are lost to him now.
» Author's Notes: Written for
zekkass who asked for something hopeful for them, though I'm not sure if I got there in the end. This is set post-Season 6.The second hand on his watch has moved three minutes.
There’s dirt on the toe of his black dress shoes. He should polish them when he gets home; if, perhaps he should say. At the rate this line was moving, he’d be lucky if his brothers hadn’t polished off dinner by the time he got there.
Who was cooking tonight?
A man coughs, muffled and dry, somewhere in the queue behind him.
The woman in front of him is rifling through her purse again. Her blond hair is neatly pinned in a French twist and her pink suit probably wasn’t even that offensive under natural light.
He’s been humming a melody from his youngest years, but the words are lost to him now. The yellow, dirty light of this waiting room makes his eyes heavy.
“Hey.”
He checks his watch again. This queue wound out the doors and down the hall, how long would it be before he even had a glimpse? The wait was aching in his knees.
“Hey.”
The corridor is silent except for the hushed, collective breath of relief with every step that has taken them forward in line, rewarding their patience.
Who is this man standing at his shoulder? Didn’t he know how long he’d now wait to get back in line?
“What are you doing?” the man asks him. He sounds confused and incredulous. His gold eyes seem familiar. Why?
“I’m waiting in line.” The sound of his own voice startles him and it almost cracks with disuse. He swallows to clear the tremble.
“For what?”
“My turn.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“… Excuse me? Who are you?”
Everything will be all right once he gets to the front. He’ll get his reward, stamped and sealed with gratitude. If only he could remember what for; but it was a great sum, whatever it was.
“Uriel,” the man shakes his head, sadly, searching his face, “You don’t belong here.”
Uriel.
The name makes his chest tighten and he sees the woman in front of him stiffen. She turns, slowly, and the sharp glare that narrows at him is a hollowed, consuming black. It doesn’t surprise him and he can’t understand how he feels in that moment.
Uriel? That's his name, isn't it?
“I know you,” he prompts the man and allows the question to linger.
Tell me how.
The man touches the rope that has cordoned them in this queue – he hadn’t noticed the deep red of it before. It ignites at the man’s touch, falling in ash at their feet, but only where they stand, and Uriel feels the black, accusing eyes of all the others before and behind turn on him.
He senses it, but he doesn’t see, because he watches the man on the other side of the ashes reach for him with a careful frown. Fire licks along his skin and it feels like breath, a clear, pure wind on his face where the fingers touch, and then a grip closes around his wrist, pulling him free.
Uriel breathes his first breath since dying in the light and when he opens his eyes there are gardens at his feet, a sun of absolution bearing on his shoulders, and he remembers.
“Gabriel,” he forces the name out and, with it, all his sin.
But this isn’t Heaven and this grass isn’t Eden. Uriel sinks to his knees on the damp earth with a quiet sob.
He doesn’t realise Gabriel has also kneeled until his hands are being pulled from his knees and he looks into Gabriel’s face, expecting triumph or disdain. Gabriel left them long ago and Uriel still curls around the ache of that betrayal because he would have followed his General anywhere. Now that he is returned and alive, there is a shadow over his gaze, and Uriel almost forgets his bitterness.
“Grace led me back to you.” Gabriel’s expression is worn and his eyes almost look grey when he grips Uriel’s hands. “Pray with me,” he murmurs hoarsely, and Uriel knows that he will without caring why.
They are delivered, though something is not right. Lips brush his forehead and grace weaves within the space where Uriel once held his wings. The touch is trembling and unsteady, and Uriel holds on just as tightly.
He prays for their completion, for shelter and forgiveness, but at the end of it all, the only holy word he remembers is Gabriel.
